


Not Without You

by Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, mind the major character death warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysBoth/pseuds/Wolftraps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Happy Anniversary," Stiles says sullenly, sulking further down into the passenger's seat. Derek knows he's playing right into whatever plot has hatched in Stiles' mind, but there's really nothing better to do. </p>
<p>So, against his better judgement, he answers, "It's not our anniversary." </p>
<p>"Sure it is." Stiles doesn't look up, turns away a touch even, but Derek doesn't need to see his face to know he's smirking; not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Without You

**Author's Note:**

> prompt on tumblr for sad sterek. you can find it there [here](http://wolftraps.tumblr.com/post/80429716085/not-without-you)

 

"Happy Anniversary," Stiles says sullenly, sulking further down into the passenger's seat. He scans the lot they're parked in absently and returns to fiddling with his phone, as he's been doing for most of the last hour and a half. Derek knows he's playing right into whatever plot has hatched in Stiles' mind, but there's really nothing better to do.   
  
So, against his better judgement, he answers, "It's not our anniversary."   
  
"Sure it is." Stiles doesn't look up, turns away a touch even, but Derek doesn't need to see his face to know he's smirking; not anymore.   
  
"We've been going out for just under seven months."   
  
"I know."   
  
"It's April. We met in January."   
  
"Yep."   
  
Derek tries to hold out, tries to stare Stiles down 'til he cracks, but Stiles is still refusing to look at him, and Derek already knows he's going to lose.   
  
"Alright, fine," he sighs. "Anniversary of  _what?_ "   
  
Stiles perks up, grinning like he's won something real. "I'll tell you if you let me do the next sweep."   
  
"No." There's no reason not to let him, really. Derek just has this feeling that sending Stiles out to look for a group of trigger happy hunters is a spectacularly bad idea.   
  
"What? Why not? I have my bat,  _and_  a gun. And seriously, we've been here all night for the last three nights. You really think these guys are gonna show up just because I take a look around instead of you?  _You're_  the one they're after. I'm just the token human."   
  
"No." Derek says again.   
  
Stiles falls back into a sulk again, pulling up his phone, probably to text Scott about what an asshole Derek is again. "Fine. Have it your way. As usual."   
  
Derek refuses to take the bait. In truth, as much as he tries to hold out and be the sensible one, Stiles is the one who always seems to get his way. He plays people like a pro, and Derek really wishes he found that more annoying than he does impressive.   
  
For six whole minutes, Derek manages to stay firm. But six minutes of Stiles' silence, much as he often prays for it, is just wrong. Every second makes Derek a little more uncomfortable.   
  
"Okay," he sighs. "You can do the sweep.  _With me,_  Stiles. We go together."   
  
"Deal. Fine. Awesome," Stiles agrees quickly, already throwing his door open. "Just get me out of this car,  _oh my god._ "   
  
\--   
  
  
It's quiet in the area around Derek's apartment building, as it has been for the last four hours, and the last three nights since Derek had received the threat. Normally, Derek would let it be, just react if they ever did attack, but this group has everyone on edge, since no one had even known they were around until Derek came home one day to a trashed apartment and a pile of wolfsbane on his bed.   
  
It was decided Derek would be better off not just sitting in his apartment, waiting for an attack. So here he is, wandering the block surrounding his building, while Argent makes himself at home in his apartment and Scott is off supposedly searching a larger area. He doesn't exactly have the greatest track record with these things. But the fact that he's apparently been texting Stiles back does help to inspire  _some_  confidence.   
  
"Well?" Derek finally asks, once they've made the loop around the block without incident and are headed back to the car. Derek can hear a group of kids another block away, probably doing something they shouldn't, but he's heard them before. They're harmless. Other than them and a few passing cars, the place seems clear.   
  
Stiles grins over at him, absently swinging his bat like a pendulum.   
  
"One year ago today," Stiles says dramatically, "you kissed me for the first time."   
  
" _What?_  No, I-" Derek tries to think. Last April was- And then he remembers. He remembers sitting at Stiles bedside when they were both only starting to admit they were friends. He remembers feeling lost. "It was on your  _hand,_ " he argues, because he can't bear to dwell on that time. "You were  _asleep._ " Stiles smirks, but also stops walking, face falling quickly into something more serious.   
  
"Also," he clears his throat, wringing the ends of his sleeves. "Also, a year ago today, I realized that I love you."   
  
It's the first time either of them have said it aloud, and it takes Derek a second to process, both the confession and the cheese with which it was presented. Before he can respond, though, Stiles catches sight of something behind him and his eyes go wide.   
  
There's a click, the all too familiar sound of the safety being released, and Stiles rushes Derek, grabbing his arm and using it to pivot himself around, just in time for the bullet to strike him in the back. Someone swears.   
  
The sudden weight of Stiles in Derek's arms is familiar, and distressingly so. Because this isn't Stiles tipping over to lean on him and whisper inappropriate things in his ear in the line at the movies, or jumping on his back and demanding to be carried home after winning a lacrosse game. It isn't Stiles vaulting over the back of the couch to land unapologetically with a knee in Derek's kidney, or lying passed out on top of him in Derek's bed, smelling of  _them._    
  
This is Stiles, collapsing in Derek's hold as his legs give out on him, and gasping for breath around the bullet hole in his lung.   
  
"No," Derek breathes, his brain caught on that one word lowering Stiles to the ground as gently as he can. He tries to think, to remember what Melissa told him. Stiles is human. He can't just break his arm to make him heal. He has to- has to- he has to put pressure on the wound. His hands shake, and he flinches at Stiles' hiss of pain, but doesn't let up the pressure any. Can't. Just pulls as much of the pain as he can into himself. "No. No."   
  
"Derek," Stiles chokes. "Go. Go- run." He pushes weakly at Derek's chest, and the answering, extra stab of pain is what makes Derek realize that the bullet that had gone through Stiles had lodged itself in his own chest. But it doesn't matter, because Derek can hear the fluid in Stiles' lungs, and he refuses to budge.   
  
"No," he says again, looking away for a fraction of a second to check on the hunters, drawing slowly closer. With as deep a breath and as much urgency as he can manage, Derek howls. For Scott, for Chris, for anyone listening. It's cut short as another shot strikes him.   
  
"L-et me go, moron," Stiles tells him. "Fight. T-try to live, for once."   
  
"No. Not without you. There's no point." Stiles' heart stutters, and Derek doesn't know what else to do. He leans in close, hands still pressing hard on Stiles' chest, and kisses him softly. "I love you too. Just hold on. We'll be fine. I love you. I love you."   
  
"Idiot," Stiles sighs. "Go." He smiles sadly, heartbeat getting weaker, weaker.   
  
"Not without you," Derek tells him, his own breath labored. The barrel of a gun rests against the back of his head, and he closes his eyes. In the distance, he hears Scott's answering call. But it's too late. The gun fires.


End file.
